


La Maladie

by SirLancelotTheBrave



Series: Tumblr prompts and oneshots [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis is a terror when he's ill, Fever, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Porthos is an angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/pseuds/SirLancelotTheBrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis comes down with a fever. Porthos takes care of him and wonders why illness can turn grown men into petulant children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Maladie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComeHitherAshes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/gifts).



> We've both been sick far too much lately, my dear. May we always have a Porthos to cheer us up again!

"Porthos!" Treville's angry shout had him jerking to attention at his desk, hastily shoving the miniature Eiffel Tower he'd been constructing out of paper clips into a convenient drawer.

"Sir?" he called back, ignoring the clatter as the paper clip creation shattered inside his desk. He shoved himself up hastily and headed towards Treville's office. This early in the morning, what could he possibly have done wrong?

"Yes, sir?" he asked, pausing in the doorway. Treville waved him inside.

"Porthos," he began in a tone that suggested years and years of long-suffering frustration, "where is Aramis?"

Porthos frowned at him. "He's not in?"

Treville looked up sharply. "You didn't know," he muttered at last. "No, he isn't in. He's supposed to be reporting about the Montclair case this afternoon, and he isn't answering his phone."

"Alright," Porthos said, shifting uneasily. It wasn't like Aramis to skip work without calling. "What do you want me to do?"

Treville leveled him with a baleful look. "You've got no cases. Go find him. I need that report."

"Of course, sir," Porthos said, turning away quickly to hide his smirk at the poorly concealed concern in Treville's order.

He called a goodbye to Athos on the way out, ignoring the expression that clearly said _where are you going don't leave me alone with the puppy_ while D'Artagnan waved a cheerful farewell.

Porthos tried Aramis's cell phone as he made his way through the garage to his car, and then his house when he didn't pick up, but still got no response. He frowned at the phone and may or may not have broken the speed limit on his way to Aramis's apartment.

This would be so much easier if Porthos had just finished moving in last weekend like he was supposed to. Maybe putting off packing to play Mario Kart had been a bad idea.

Thankfully, Aramis lived only twenty minutes from the station. His car was in its spot, which eased some of Porthos's worry. He was probably still home, then.

He hurried up to the apartment and let himself in with his key. "Aramis?" he called, locking it again behind him. "You home?"

There was no response. He stuck his head around the corner to check the kitchen before moving to the living room, but there was no sign of Aramis, or even that he'd been up today at all. The light on the answering machine was beeping, and his cell phone was lying on a pillow on the couch. Aramis always forgot to grab it before he went to bed.

Porthos picked it up and frowned at the cheerful device with its Game of Thrones case. Aramis kept his alarms on his phone, so most mornings consisted of loud beeps emanating from wherever he'd left it last night as he climbed over Porthos, cursing, to turn it off. It must have gone off this morning, so why was it still here?

He stuck it in his pocket and hurried to the bedroom, flicking on the lights when he saw the shades were still drawn. A pitiful moan arose from a pile of blankets when the lights flared.

"Turn it off," Aramis mumbled, the pile of blankets shifting pathetically.

Porthos ignored the request. "Oi, what're you still doing in bed?" he asked, striding over. "Treville was worried when you didn't call." He reached out and tried to tug the blankets back, but Aramis held on stubbornly.

At last he located Aramis's head amid the blankets and laid a hand on his cheek. "You're burnin' up," he muttered, concern spiking through him only to be tempered by irritation. "You idiot. Why didn't you call me?"

"Phone's not here," Aramis mumbled, trying to hitch the blankets higher. "And I didn't want to bother you."

Porthos rolled his eyes heavenward. "You'll be the death of me, you will." Aramis shifted under the blankets but didn't refute it. "Right, you stay here. I'll call Treville and tell him what's 'appened."

He stepped into the hallway and called the station. Treville gruffly ordered him to take the day off and make sure Aramis took care of himself, saying nothing about the report. He smirked as he hung up. The captain was notoriously protective of his men.

"Got the day off," he said as he walked back into the bedroom. "Guess I get t' play nurse."

Aramis shuffled about under the covers until his eyes peeped out. "You're staying?" he asked hopefully.

Porthos chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, dummy, I'm stayin'. Now come outta there."

Aramis grumbled but obliged, pushing the blankets down past his chin. His cheeks were flushed and his forehead was beaded with sweat. He looked the picture of misery.

'First things first, what hurts?" he asked, pressing his hand to Aramis's forehead again.

"Everything," Aramis sniffled. "Everything hurts and I'm dying." He flopped back dramatically against the pillows.

Porthos prayed for patience, eyeing Aramis pointedly until he relented and muttered, "My head and my throat and my stomach."

He raised an eyebrow at the list of symptoms. "Where did you even catch this?"

"Martine visited with Sophie," Aramis mumbled.

"You got it from your niece? That's just cruel." Porthos rose from the bed. "I'll get some medicine and water, eh? Think you can eat somethin'?"

Aramis moaned pathetically and yanked the blankets up once more. "Yeah? Tough. I'll find some soup."

Aramis muttered something about 'tyrant' as he walked back to the kitchen, but Porthos just chuckled and ignored him. He should have expected Aramis would be a difficult patient, but he'd never imagined he'd be this petulant.

He raided Aramis's medicine cabinet for anything that might reasonably help with his symptoms and snagged a thermometer as an afterthought before filling a glass of water. He juggled it all awkwardly as he made his way back to the bedroom only to find Aramis sprawled across the giant bed, sheets and blankets a tangled mess on the floor.

"What'd you do that for?" he asked.

"I got hot," Aramis muttered, curling up on his side. "Kill me."

"Don't tempt me," Porthos chuckled, picking his way over the blankets to reach the bed. "Take these. They'll help."

Aramis gave him a look that told him he was the worst person ever but swallowed the pills with only token cajoling, finishing the glass of water along with them. He squawked when Porthos stuck the thermometer in his mouth but suffered the indignity, glaring all the while.

"102," Porthos muttered, squinting at the tiny numbers. "Definitely a fever."

"It's probably the plague."

"It ain't the plague," Porthos growled. "Don't be a baby."

Aramis pouted at him. "Where's my soup?"

"For the love of- I thought you didn't want it?" Porthos sighed.

"Now I do."

"Fine. Stay here." He got to his feet and left, fighting the urge to toss a pillow that had fled the bed into Aramis's face.

"He's the tyrant," he muttered mutinously as he rummaged through the cupboards, locating a tin of tomato soup. He dumped it in a bowl and stuck it in the microwave, filling another cup with water as it heated.

As soon as the soup was warm, he grabbed it and headed back to the bedroom. Aramis looked around as he entered.

"You were gone so long," he sighed dramatically. "I thought you left me."

"I was tempted," Porthos told him, not quite able to say it with a straight face. "Here. Soup."  
He waited until Aramis was sitting up to plop the bowl carefully in his lap. Aramis looked at it oddly for a moment before his eyes flashed up. 'Thanks," he said meekly. Before Porthos could respond beyond a blank stare, Aramis dug into the soup.

Porthos got up to gather the fallen blankets, a little thrown by what had just happened. Did Aramis think he needed thanks? Wasn't taking care of one another when ill something boyfriends were supposed to do?

He dumped the blankets on the bed, realizing as he did so that he had never been in this situation before. He'd never had anyone to take care of apart from himself.

"I'm done," Aramis muttered, cutting off his train of thought. He shifted uncomfortable on the bed.

"What?" Porthos asked, grabbing the fallen pillow and tossing it on the pile.

"Nothing," Aramis said hurriedly, shifting so his legs hung off the side. Before Porthos could prepare himself, Aramis stumbled to his feet and promptly staggered into the wall.

"What the fuck?" Porthos growled, grabbing him before he could do himself any harm. "Where're you goin'?"

Aramis's face flushed darker. "Bathroom," he mumbled.

Porthos sighed. "You're too stubborn for your own good," he grumbled. "You could ask for help."

Aramis shoulders slumped. "Fine. Will you help me?"

"See how easy that was?" Porthos teased, wrapping an arm around his waist. He nudged Aramis with his hip to remind him there was no need to be embarrassed and was rewarded when a tiny grin lifted Aramis's lips.

The trip to the bathroom proved uneventful, since Aramis insisted he could handle it once inside the door. Porthos wasn't inclined to argue, not when Aramis's cheeks still flamed from more than just the fever, and waited outside until he was finished.

The toilet flushed, but the door didn't open. Porthos stepped closer, and sure enough, a moment later he could hear Aramis retching. He gave him a moment before pushing open the door.

"Least you hit the toilet," he said cheerfully, tugging Aramis to his feet. "Mostly. You done for now?" Aramis shot him a miserable glare but nodded and allowed himself to be led back to the bed.

Once there, he curled into a ball, looking absolutely wretched as Porthos carefully covered him with blankets again. His previous energy seemed to have deserted him, leaving him huddled in a ball beneath the covers, coughing painfully.

Porthos hovered uncertainly, not sure what else he could do. He'd brought water, fetched food and medicine, and dealt with the mess in the bathroom. What else did people do in these situations?

He could see that Aramis wasn't asleep. He kept sniffling miserably, probably feeling too ill to actually rest. What he needed was a distraction.

Porthos stepped away from the bed, grinning to himself, and moved over the massive DVD shelf against the wall. He shook his head at Aramis's hopelessly complicated organizational system but eventually located what he was looking for. He popped the DVD in the player and went back to the bed, locating the remote on the nightstand.

Aramis looked around when the music started to play on the menu. " _Tangled_?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yep," Porthos said proudly, pressing the play button. "C'mon. You've been tryin' to get me to watch this for ages."

"Mmmm, true," Aramis murmured, rolling over to face the TV.

Porthos allowed himself a triumphant smile. "Perfect. Now budge up."

"What? No, I'm contagious," Aramis protested, blinking at him when Porthos tried to gently shove him aside, pulling back the blankets.

"Nonsense. I never get sick," Porthos chuckled, finally succeeding in making enough space for himself on the bed. Aramis hesitated only a moment longer before crawling into his arms.

"You cold?" Porthos asked, noting the shivers wracking Aramis's body.

Aramis nodded, burrowing against him as Porthos pulled him closer. "You're warm."

Porthos laughed, shifting so they could both see the TV screen. "Glad I'm good for somethin'."

"Shut up, Flynn Rider is coming," Aramis mumbled tiredly, propping his head up against Porthos's shoulder.

Porthos whistled when the character came on screen. "Hey, 'e looks like you," he murmured, stroking Aramis's hair off his face.

Aramis smiled. "I like to think so," he said a tad smugly. "We're both dashing and handsome adventurers."

Porthos laughed and pressed a kiss to Aramis's too hot forehead. "That you are, love."

Aramis made a contented noise, his earlier recalcitrance forgotten as he snuggled against Porthos's chest. He was asleep in minutes.

Porthos checked he was resting comfortably before sitting back to find out just what was so wonderful about this girl's hair.

* * *

Porthos had watched the movie twice through when Aramis finally woke up. Not that he was going to complain. He'd be humming 'I See the Light' for weeks.

Aramis went from asleep to awake in a matter of seconds. One moment he was out cold across Porthos's chest, the next he was sitting straight up and staring groggily about.

"Hey," Porthos chuckled, resting a hand on Aramis's waist. "You feeling better?"

Aramis turned to look at him, his eyes glassy by the dim light of the TV. "What time is it?" he asked muzzily.

"Bout 5 o'clock," Porthos told him, pushing off the headboard to sit up beside him. He pressed a hand to Aramis's forehead and bit back a curse. He should've given him more medicine hours ago. He hadn't noticed the fever getting worse.

"What? No, no, 'm s'posed to give a report," Aramis mumbled. "I gotta go."

He twisted on the bed, trying to free his legs from the tangle of blankets. He struggled valiantly for a moment before flopping back against the bed, coughing hoarsely.

"You ain't goin' anywhere," Porthos told him firmly, reaching down to pull the blankets back up. "Stay 'ere, I'll grab some cough medicine."

He hopped up and hurried to the medicine cabinet, locating the pills he needed without too much trouble. He was just filling a glass with water when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Aramis, where're you goin'?" he asked, hurrying to set the glass and pills down in the bedroom before dashing out into the hallway. Aramis was halfway to the living room, one blanket wrapped haphazardly about his shoulders, flushed and stumbling but apparently determined to leave.

"Have to report to th' captain," Aramis mumbled, voice slurring. "Montclair case. Important."

"You ain't leavin' while you're sick," Porthos said, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. He slung an arm around Aramis's waist and directed him to the couch. Aramis collapsed across it with the slightest push but immediately attempted to clamber up again.

"Will you stay down, please?" Porthos muttered. Aramis ignored him, fever bright eyes focused on the door.

"Treville needs my report," he insisted.

"Right," Porthos said, finally hitting his limit. "Up we go." He grabbed Aramis firmly and lifted him into his arms, carrying him struggling back to the bedroom and dumping him carefully on the bed.

"No, Porthos, I need to go," Aramis protested, his voice starting to take on a frantic edge. Porthos stared down at him, at a loss. Then an idea crept into his mind and he sat down heavily on the bed, rubbing dramatically at his temple.

"Ahh, Christ," he muttered, peeking over to see Aramis frozen halfway off the bed, glazed eyes now fixed on him. "M'head."

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked, shifting towards him.

"Not feelin' well all of a sudden," Porthos said, pitching his voice low and hoping it would sound weak. "Don' worry about me, though."

Aramis shifted closer again, reaching out to lay a trembling hand against Porthos's forehead. His fingers were like ice. "You feel hot," Aramis mumbled worriedly, and Porthos had to bite back a grin as his plan unfolded perfectly.

"Sure 'm fine," he said, moving to stand up and swaying intentionally before flopping back down on the bed.

"You're not fine!" Aramis cried, pushing him until he lay on the bed. "Lay down."

Porthos complied, subtly pulling Aramis down with him. "Guess you'll have to stay an' take care o' me," he mumbled.

"I suppose I can give the report tomorrow," Aramis agreed blearily, already sinking down against Porthos's chest as exhaustion caught up to him again. "You should get some rest."

"Mmmm," Porthos hummed, closing his eyes. He waited until Aramis's breathing evened out to open them again, grinning triumphantly as he carefully shifted into a more comfortable position.

Apparently he wasn't quite careful enough. Aramis's eyes cracked open once more. Porthos tensed, ready to fake illness again, but Aramis jut blinked wearily up at him, all thoughts of reporting to Treville seemingly fled.

"You alright?" Porthos murmured, brushing a hand across Aramis's forehead to push his hair out if his eyes. He was still far too hot.

Aramis tipped his head, pressing his face against Porthos's shoulder. "'M cold," he mumbled, voice pitiful and scratchy, "and ev'rything hurts."

Porthos made a soothing noise and pulled him closer, but Aramis wouldn't lie still, shifting restlessly with a miserable expression that made Porthos's chest ache.

"Hey, c'mon, none of that," he murmured when Aramis tried to roll off him unhappily. He shifted so that Aramis's head was resting in the crook of his neck wrapping one arm securely around his waist while stroking his hair gently with his free hand.

Acting on instinct, he began to hum gently under his breath. He couldn't remember all the words from the movie, but he had the melody down. After a few moments, Aramis stopped shifting against him and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Porthos breathed out a relieved breath, careful not to move this time. Aramis needed the sleep. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV, lowering the volume before pressing play on _Tangled_ again.

He couldn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was Flynn telling Rapunzel she was his new dream. Next thing he knew, he was blinking awake to daylight filtering through the closed curtains and Aramis watching him from where he still lay curled against his chest.

"Mornin'," he yawned, tightening his grip on Aramis's waist.

"Good morning," Aramis murmured. His eyes looked much clearer in the dim light, and when Porthos lifted his hand to his forehead, he found him only slighter warmer than usual.

"How d'you feel?"

Aramis shrugged slightly. "Better."

Porthos frowned at him, curious at the lack of Aramis's usual eloquence. Aramis's eyes dropped as he glanced away.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked, pushing himself up slightly against the headboard. Aramis tried to shift off him to let him up but Porthos didn't release him.

"Nothing," Aramis said evasively, biting his lip. "I just, ah… thanks. For staying." He'd gone very red by the end of the stammered sentence, refusing to meet Porthos's eye.

"Thought that was what you kept me around for?" Porthos teased, catching hold of Aramis's chin and tilting his head until he met his gaze. "Ain't that what boyfriends do?"

Aramis's lips twitched up. "Well, I wouldn't know."

Porthos tipped his head curiously. "You said you'd dated lots o' people."

"I have. But not, you know… exclusively. Picked them up from bars, but I didn't have real relationships. Never really had anyone around for long. And it's not like I was out at bars, picking up dates when I was ill." He trailed off, a melancholy cast to his features as he smiled sadly. "I was on my own."

Porthos hugged him tighter unconsciously. "I never 'ad anyone to look after before," he rumbled thoughtfully. "S'nice."

Aramis shot him a small smile. "I shall have to return the favor someday."

"Idiot, I didn't do it for that," Porthos snorted. "Besides, I never get sick."

"Lucky," Aramis muttered, pouting a bit.

Porthos chuckled. "What're you complainin' about? You'll get right royal treatment when you're ill. Even if you are a terror."

Aramis smiled ruefully at him. "Was I that bad?"

Porthos nodded, still chuckling. "Worried you might toss the soup at me and escape out the window." Aramis buried his head against Porthos's chest with a mock groan, but Porthos tugged on his waist until he could bend down and kiss him.

He pulled back quickly, remembering too late that Aramis had thrown up last night.

Aramis groaned again as he remembered, running his hands through his tangled and matted curls. "I'm a mess."

"Yeah, but I love you anyway," Porthos grinned cheekily. He lifted his hand to Aramis's forehead again.

"Am I fit for duty?" Aramis asked, rolling his head back up to look at him.

"I dunno," Porthos replied, smirking. "Think maybe you could use another day off. 'S Friday, after all."

Aramis smiled as he caught on. "I'm sure the captain would agree I can't possibly be left on my own."

Porthos grinned broadly. "You go start a shower. I'll call Treville."

As he hurried down the hallway, Aramis popped his head out of the bedroom and called after him, "We should watch _Tangled_ again!"

Porthos glanced back to see him smiling wickedly. "And then maybe you can sing to me, _mon cher_."

"Didn't think you'd remember that," Porthos said gruffly.

Aramis simply laughed, still beaming, and retreated into the bedroom calling something about watching _Frozen_ this weekend after Porthos finished moving in.

Porthos smiled through the brief conversation with Treville, trying to keep the mirth from his voice. He stood in the kitchen after he hung up, still grinning stupidly, until Aramis's voice rang out over the sound of running water, shouting that he'd better hurry up or Aramis was getting in without him.

The prospect of a long weekend in with his boyfriend sounded heavenly right now.

He dashed back to the bathroom and opened the door. Aramis had already climbed into the shower, but from the clothes strewn liberally across the floor, Porthos guessed he was feeling much better.

"Are you coming in or what?" Aramis called impatiently from beyond the shower curtain.

Porthos grinned, stripping down. There was something distinctly feverish in Aramis's tone, and Porthos got the feeling it had nothing to do with his illness.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Let me know in the comments!


End file.
